Praying for Cancer
by lequeenofmoondoor
Summary: Some people pray for good things to come to them. Sam Winchester isn't one of those people. His prayers aren't of good grades and toys, hope and redemption. He prays for something bad. He prays for cancer, or something equally terrible to happen-to himself. Warnings inside. Teenchesters. Not Wincest.


**Warnings:** Suicidal thoughts, swearing

**Dedicated to:** precious-passenger, not only for betaing this, but because everyone needs a reminder that things will get better, no matter how bad it's gotten.

Most kids who pray at night pray to be safe, to not die in their sleep. They pray for health, happiness, love. They pray for people to like them, for new toys, for good grades.

Sam Winchester used to pray to be normal. Neither Dean nor John know that he used to do it every single night without fail before he went to bed- hell, they don't know that he still does. When he was younger, Sam used to ask whoever was out there for his daddy to be around and for Dean to be happy. He always noticed the tired grins his brother tried to hide, even when they were little and shouldn't have had the opportunity to _be _that tired. As he grew up and found out the truth about what his father really did for a living, he started praying for them to just settle down somewhere without monsters. Sometimes John would be there, though more often than not, he wasn't. Dean was the constant, making everything work out somehow.

At sixteen years old, Sam starts praying for something different. He prays for some weird disease without a cure to strike him, to be hit by a car, for something deadly to come up and carry him away. He's tired, especially after his sixth move of the year- in April. John just had to keep finding open and shut cases, ripping him away from whatever meager friendships he had formed in the short time that he was there. It takes a toll on him, always being the new kid. Always having to hunt when he freaking hates it. Always feeling alone.

It's gotten worse since Dean had dropped out of high school. He quickly begins to spend the majority of his time on cases with John or at a bar, doing God knows what to some local girl. Sam misses when his brother was too young to hunt… too young to forget about him. At the moment, Dean just returned from a hunt and is in the kitchen, eating. John had made the effort of renting a small condo, so hopefully they'll be staying for a while. The boys still have to share a room, but there's two floors and everything.

Sam finds it a little funny how, with all these thoughts running through his head and weapons at his disposal, he's never once tried to kill himself. There's really only one thing holding him back- Dean. He can't leave the one person who actually cares for him with the knowledge that he was weak. The youngest Winchester knows that his father will be upset for a little while, but his overall disappointment towards his son will reign over. He'd quickly realize that he's better off without him.

But Dean? Dean would be heartbroken and feel like it was his fault, that he had failed the one job that he had been entrusted with since he was four years old- watch out for Sammy. "Sammy" can't put all of that weight and guilt onto his older brother's shoulder.

The youngest Winchester also has a more selfish reason for not simply taking a gun to his head. He already knows that his father thinks that he's weak. John isn't wrong- Sam knows that he isn't as tough as his other family members in both physical and emotional strength. However, he doesn't think that Dean knows that basic fact. God, it would kill him again if Dean had to find that out by his baby brother's suicide. A part of Sam is scared, too, that Dean won't be heartbroken at all, that he'll be like John and understand how much better things are. Sam isn't sure which would be worse- Dean being super upset or not giving a damn at all. And if it was the latter, and he had to find out early that his younger brother was a loser? Sam doesn't think that he can handle that.

So instead of taking the easy way out, he prays. He prays for something terrible to happen, something completely uncontrollable. Something that Dean can't possibly blame himself for. Sam's current favorite idea is some form of cancer. Cancer can make him look like a fighter on the outside, when he's giving up within. The problems in that case, though, are:

It would cost Dean and John a small fortune to pay for the hospital bills.

It would probably kill Dean to watch him suffer for that long.

Maybe cancer isn't the best answer, then. Plus, the idea of long and drawn-out pain isn't really all that appealing. Something quicker, then, and less financially damaging to his family.

Sam knows that Dean will be upstairs soon, so he figures that he should start his nightly routine. He salts the doorway and the one lonely window. Sam kind of feels bad for it, just that one window on a blank wall in a small room. How sad is that, the fact that he can relate to a freaking inanimate object?

After finishing, he gets down on his knees and starts to pray. He can't even begin to imagine how weak John and Dean would find him for doing this every night.

"Whoever's out there," the boy whispers, letting his shaggy hair fall in front of his hazel eyes, "It's Sam Winchester again. I'm not asking for strength or anything, because I don't think that there's a happy ending for me. Not in this lifetime, anyway. I just want a way out that doesn't leave Dean with any burden. God knows that he gets enough just from me existing. Please, just get me out with Dean okay. Thank you."

Sam looks up, sniffling slightly. He glances at the door and freezes as he makes out a shadow behind the frame. His heart leaps into his throat, beating faster than a cheetah's.

"Dean?" the teenager calls cautiously. He remains still as his brother steps into the golden light from the room. Dean looks shell-shocked, his hand covering his mouth.

"Oh my god, Sammy," he says quietly. Sam stands up quickly, trying to rush through the doorway and be anywhere in the world but here. He'll give almost anything not to have just been caught saying that. Dean catches him as he attempts to barrel past, pushing both of them into their bedroom. The younger Winchester crumples to the ground, all of the strength that he had managed to muster gone in a flash. Dean is immediately by his side, ready to step into the big brother mode that he knows so well.

"M'sorry," Sam says brokently. He stares at his knees, trying desperately to quell the rising tears. He isn't a child, dammit. Hunters don't cry, especially not the Winchesters. Before the teen knows what's happening, he's wrapped in a strong pair of arms.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmurs, holding onto his baby brother for dear life. Sam can't really breathe, but he relishes the feeling that always made him feel safe as a kid- and still does. With that, the floodgates open.

He starts sobbing, one hand clutching the bottom's of Dean's shirt. It's so stupid and weak and babyish, but God, he needs it so badly. The boy feels Dean shift underneath him to accommodate a crying brother, and it only makes him cry harder. He doesn't deserve his awesome big brother, and Dean sure as hell deserves way more than Sam can give him.

"I… want… to… die," Sam chokes out, burying his face into Dean's shoulder. His body shakes with uncontrollable sobs, not willing to stop anytime soon after having been bottled up for so long. He's pretty sure that Dean's going to leave soon. Hell, the older Winchester had dealt with much more crap in his life and was the strongest man in the world. He must be disgusted that Sam turned from a cute little kid into a weak-ass, broken sixteen-year-old. Sam hates himself for it.

He feels his brother's hand gently ghosting up and down his back, comforting him infinitely.

"It's okay," Dean mutters softly into Sam's ear, clearly at a loss for what else to possibly say, "You're okay."

Slowly, Sam's sobs lessen and turn into hiccups. As the flow of tears comes to an end, he feels increasingly more stupid. If only he'd made sure that Dean was still downstairs, his brother wouldn't have to deal with him breaking. God, he's such an idiot!

"H-how much did you hear?" Sam mumbles hoarsely, pulling back and ducking his head. He must look like such a mess. He'd be embarrassed if he had a brother like himself.

"All of it," Dean says bluntly. The younger Winchester risks a glance up, expecting to have familiar green eyes filled with disgust pointed towards him, but he only sees concern in them. He gulps, trying to swallow a huge lump in his throat as Dean continues, "How about we talk about this in the morning, kiddo? You're exhausted."

Sam nods numbly, realizing that his eyelids are starting to droop. Damn his involuntary reactions. He gets into one of the two twin beds as Dean leaves to go to the bathroom. He comes back moments later in a black t-shirt and boxers, looking like he's ready for bed.

"D-Dean?" the teenager asks quietly. It's pathetic, he knows, but he doesn't want to be alone tonight. He just wants to be six again, cuddled up with his big brother and feeling like nothing can hurt him. He won't blame Dean in the slightest, though, if he's repulsed by the idea. Sam completely gets that they aren't children anymore and that he's a total failure.

Dean turns to him, an unsaid understanding clear in his eyes, and gives Sam a small smile. Instead of getting into his own bed, he tells his baby brother to budge up and climbs in.

Sam can't help but relax as his brother's strong arms wrap around him, the steady heartbeat soothing him. The kid feels like he can really breathe for the first time in who knows how long- months, probably, if not years. It's in that tiny bed with two large boys in it, each one close to falling off, that Sam remembers where his home is. It's with Dean, and he could never leave that behind. Sam fists Dean's amulet like he used to when they were little, glad for the first time that he's still smaller than his big brother. Then, he lets himself drift off into the best sleep that he's had in a while.

**** (Maybe?)

The sixteen-year-old wakes up cold and alone, previous thoughts of self-assurance fleeing from his mind. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes and glancing around the room for Dean. The other bed is still made, so he didn't just get up when his brother fell asleep… right?

_Maybe he couldn't bear to even be in the same room with you and went to sleep on the couch. _The ugly thought runs through his head, chasing away any last senses of comfort that he had gained last night. Of course Dean left; hell, Sam can't even find any fault in that. Although disappointed, he understands it. His brother probably won't even acknowledge him today.

He starts down the stairs, silently cursing the cold wood on his bare feet. He probably looks like an atrocity- hair sticking in all different directions, face still tearstained from his mental breakdown. By the time that Sam shuffles into the kitchen, he feels worse than before.

The boy whips his head up when he hears a cheery, "Morning, Sammy!" directed at him. Dean is moving around the small kitchen making pancakes, of all things. Sam knows for a fact that his brother hates them, but he himself can't get enough of the fluffy goodness. Maybe then…

"Does this mean that you d-don't hate me?" Sam stutters from the doorway. Dean doesn't answer, flipping the pancakes onto a plate. The youngest Winchester begins to panic, terrified that he misjudged the situation. Maybe all they had in the way of breakfast food was pancakes or John wanted some or Dean had a sudden change of heart or-

His inner monologue is swiftly cut off as he's engulfed in a hug from

his brothers. He loosens, hugging the man back.

"Sammy," Dean says, sounding like something is caught in his throat, "How could I ever hate you? _Why_ would I possibly hate you?"

The teenager can't figure out what to say next. Dean… isn't ashamed of him? Dean isn't repulsed by the fact that his baby brother is a weak, suicidal freakazoid? Sam had imagined this scene playing out so many times, and they all got so bad that they gave him stomach aches. He had never imagined it actually turning out good. Dean must have not understood. Sam feels a lump rising in his throat.

The older Winchester pulls back to look his brother in the eye, "Kiddo, why the everlasting fuck would I hate you?"

Sam bites his lip and looks down. If he tells Dean- who somehow hasn't caught on yet- why exactly he should be disgusted, then he'll leave for sure. Sam doesn't think that he can handle the change in his brother's eyes from one of love to repulsion.

"Sammy, you're scaring me."

"Because I'm weak," Sam whispers, barely audible, and begins to ramble, "I just want to give up because I'm tired, Dean, I'm so damn tired. I'm tired and weak and a terrible hunter- which I despise doing- and even Dad can see it all. I just want to stop moving, to make a home and a life somewhere. We can't all do that, though, and it's killing me. Literally killing me, Dean. But see, I can't just use one of the weapons we have lying around to end it because I think that I know what it'll do to you. I can't take the risk of hurting the one thing that keeps me going, who took care of me my entire life. And I'm scared that you won't care at all, which is way more likely. It's okay i-if you don't. So here I am, just a freaking loser praying for something terrible and waiting for his brother to realize just what a loser he is and leave."

He wrenches himself from his brother's comforting grip and ducks his head, exiting the kitchen before Dean gets a chance to. He rushes up the stairs and slams the bedroom door. Sam starts to shake, cursing himself with all of the curses that he knows as he feels the sobs start to arise again. He's such a damn baby, crying twice in the span of two days. John would certainly never stand for this, and Dean…

Oh God, Dean knows. He knows that Sam wants to give up. He knows how weak and lame Sam is. The younger Winchester feels like he's going to throw up. His worst fear- well, second to Dean dying- has just come true. Maybe it would just be easier for everyone at this point if he threw in the towel and took a gun to his head or a knife to his wrists…

There's a loud banging at the door, quickly followed by a frantic, "Sam? Buddy? Please let me in, Sammy, I'm begging you!" It surprises Sam; he had assumed that Dean would have just left or went to John.

He takes a deep breath, willing the tears stinging at his eyes to stay there, and slowly turns the doorknob before moving back. It swings open, revealing a very concerned older brother. Sam must be an ever worse sight than before- which is saying something. He can feel his knees trying to give out and his hands trembling.

Dean ducks down slightly to Sam's level, placing his hands on the younger's shoulders to steady him. Sam looks tearfully into his brother's eyes and expects now for there to be disgust and pity- but there isn't. He only sees green eyes, eyes that he often thinks that he knows better than his own, brimming with sadness and… fear?

"Sammy, how could you… How could you _ever _think that?" Dean stammers, voice laced with worry, The younger Winchester looks down, sniffling and ready to apologize, and instead chokes on his words. A quiet sob escapes him, making him feel stupider and smaller than he already it.

His brother tilts the boy's head back up to look him in the eyes. Sam stares back, willing and pleading with whoever's out there that he doesn't cry again. He feels himself failing, defiant tears trickling down his face.

"M'sorry," Sam says, taking in a deep breath and trying to keep back the shakes that threaten to wrack his body.

Dean shakes his head, and Sam can see his eyes start to glisten. "God, no. You shouldn't be the one apologizing. _I _should."

The younger Winchester, confused, sniffles, "Wh-why?"

"Nothing should ever have gotten bad enough that you'd think that I'd leave or hate you. I'm with you 'till the end of the line, kiddo, until you decide that you don't want me anymore. The fact that you would even think that I would leave or that you're alone and want to die- even suicidal, you're so fucking considerate… It scares me, Sammy. It scares me that I've failed you, even if you don't want me to think so. God, the world needs you in it. You're so kind and brave and smart and hell, so many other things. Everyone needs you… _I _need you. It'll get better."

Sam's hazel eyes well up, and he quickly shakes his head. "Dean, I don't think it will. I-I'm just too w-weak for this lifestyle."

"Stop it!" Dean practically yells. His brother pulls away and backs up, bumping hard against the bed. Sam feels the bedpost ram into his lower back, and he winces, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The older Winchester mutters a series of expletives under his breath and calms down, donning a guilty expression. Sam watches carefully as Dean approaches him, a little frightened of another outburst. _An outburst that he caused._

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he mutters, "It's just… I can't do this without you."

Sam shrugs a quiet, "You and Dad would be fine."

"That's where you're wrong. Dad would be a wreck, and me? You're my other half, kiddo, my baby brother. The day that I'd be fine is the day that someone rips my heart out- and I'm not sure even then. I need you, Sammy, you have to believe me."

The sixteen-year-old does; God, he really does. He quickly realizes what an idiot he is. How could he even think that Dean could really hate him? If Sam had known one thing throughout his entire life, it's that Dean loves him and will always be there, no matter what. He breaks, and launches himself into his brother's arms.

Dean holds Sam tightly, letting him release everything. It feels oddly good, like this huge weight has been lifted off of his chest. He almost misses Dean whisper in his ear, "I'll help get you out of hunting and into college, if that's what you really want."

He looks up at the green-eyed man and sniffles, "R-really?"

Dean bites his lip and nods. The younger Winchester can see the pain in his brother's eyes, and it means all the more to him. He buries his face in Dean's flannel shirt, letting the softness and scent wash over him. For the first time in forever, Sam feels like he might just be okay.

Cancer can wait for another day.


End file.
